Single Mans Diary

Sixty-Not

Wed, 10 Feb 2010 09:27:00 -0800

I went to a bar in downtown last night and met this cute, Latin betty-boop looking chick with heavy shoulder tattoos and dimples. Unsure what was going on but I had a crazy headache and all I could think about was finding two Advil. So I wasn’t totally with her, mentally.

I bought her a bunch of pabst blue ribbons (of-course) and we ended up against a wall in an alley next to the bar at 11:45, with her hand around my neck and my finger up her dress and under her panties. She asked me to come over to her loft, three blocks away on Spring St. I agreed.

I left my friends and took off. When I got there I raided her medicine cabinets for Advil and came up empty.

We started fucking around on her couch. I didn’t really want to have sex because my head hurt so fucking badly, but I was down to play. She got my pants off and began jerking me. I got her dress of and fingered her. She took off my boxers, laid me flat and stripped off her undies. Then she stood over me, plopped her ass down on my face and began to 69 me.

I don’t get 69. I really don’t. It’s like when you’re a kid and you sneak a beer or some schnapps and drink it with your friends. While you’re doing it, you’re doing it just to do it, and to feel a little cool and edgy. But you don’t really like it. And in the back of your mind all you can think about is going to play video games.

I’m a pretty good pussy eater. And eating pussy during 69 is like playing basketball with no hands. Doesn’t work. Either way all that ends up happening is my nose going all up in her booty hole.

And when a girl is 69’ing me, she has to bend my cock back into a crazy yoga position to put it in her mouth. And that doesn’t feel good. And I won’t be on top. I can’t imagine putting my ass in a girls face like that. If she wants my ass that’s fine, she’ll just need to take it the old fashioned way.

The adventure was uneventful. After seven-minutes of uncomfortable 69’ing she got up to pee, and that’s where it ended. No biggie. It was just fun.

She gave me her number. In situations like that I always think about how many other guys she’s done that with, because all I really did was crack a few jokes and buy her a few beers. And I wonder if she thinks the same about me, or if she even cares. I’d love to ask her, “How many dudes have you brought home in the last few months, and did you fuck em all? One? Just oral?”

I wonder if she’d give me a straight answer. I would, who cares? “Yah I’ve had a few one night stands, but I always wear a condom. However, I did eat a few girls out without saran wrap”. I’m no saint, and I’ve done a lot of questionable things in my past. We all have.

It’s an interesting concept. If you had the ability to find out how many partners your girlfriend, boyfriend, wife, husband, fuck buddy or one night stand had really been with, from sex, to oral, to make outs, to anal… Would you want to really know?

Relief VS Satisfaction

Mon, 08 Feb 2010 08:50:34 -0800

Been fucking this new chick lately. Know her from way back. She found me on Facebook. She’s 5’8 and has long brown hair. She’s thick, but when naked she looked much different than I imagined.

In theory, her body is perfect. Her skin is smooth & tan, her tit’s are large B’s, her thighs don’t touch, her pussy is waxed and her stomach is flat and tight. Actually, her whole body is tight and toned. The thing that’s interesting about her is that she looks like an XXL version of what she should look like. Almost as if someone took petite version of her, put an air pump in her ass and pressed three or four times.

When I fuck her, she cums every time. Like clockwork, within seven minutes. Not the baby-clit-cum, she has the the deep, earth shattering orgasms. It’s the same every time. I get on top and start to fuck her, she begins to shiver and move with me. Then she whispers in my ear, “I’m gonna cum”, and lets out a series of Uhhh’s, and Errrr’s. I always imagine that she makes the same sound during her big morning stretch,

The fact that she can cum so easily makes she sex so much more enjoyable for me because I know she’s getting something out of it. I think that’s the most frustrating part about having sex, is that most women don’t cum. And in a strange way, it makes me feel selfish when I fuck them. Like, what do they get out of it? It can’t be for connection purposes. I’m not all that close with most of them.

When I fuck a girl who doesn’t cum, I drive home later that night relieved. When I fuck a girl who cums, I drive home relieved and satisfied.

A Very Short Engagement

Wed, 20 Jan 2010 08:51:00 -0800

I had a light guys-night-out last night at burger & beer joint. I didn’t know a couple of the guy’s, one of which had recently gotten engaged. We all clinked mugs and I bought him a congratulatory round of tasty Belgium beer. At one point he began to tell us how awesome his fiancé was, how she’s like no one he’d ever met and the old ‘When ya know, ya know’. I was pretty stoked for the dude and even a little Jealous, but then I found out that he’d only met his fiancé 5 months prior. That’s when I scrunched my face and thought—Ouch.

Years and years ago, when I was younger I got engaged after only 6 months. I went out and bought a ten thousand dollar ring and romantically proposed to her, and at the time there was no doubt in my mind that it was the right thing to do. I’d never met anyone like her, we jogged together every day after work, had the same taste, same sense of humor, same morals & goals. She respected me a lot and I her. We had sex 2-3 times a day and she would give me the most incredible, unprovoked, slow, cum-swallowing blowjobs. I mean it was perfect, and I really couldn’t see myself with anyone else ever again.

But soon after our engagement she changed. The sex went from 2-3 times a day, to 2-3 times a week, to 2-3 times a month, to non-existent. Those incredible, unprovoked, slow, cum-swallowing blowjobs had now turned into quick, rushed, jerked-me-off-when-I came-blowjobs. She stopped jogging with me all together, and we slowly started to become roommates. I still cared about her, a lot, but after 4-months of being engaged our relationship consisted of what reality show was on that night, what was for dinner and what bills needed to be paid. I hit a wall and couldn’t take it anymore, and I finally decided to confront her by I telling her exactly how I felt about everything, the lack of sex, the running, and the complete lack of effort on her part. I wanted to know why things had changed so drastically and what had changed for her.

She began crying, and told me that everything she used to do with me was only to make me happy. It was all fake. The running, the constant sex and the cum-swallowing BJ’s. The reality was that she hated running, she didn’t have a huge sex drive and couldn’t stand the taste of cum. Her exact words were, “I knew you liked all of those things… so, I was just doing them for you”. When I heard those words I felt entirely deceived. I didn’t know who she was anymore and felt like I fell in love with a total farce. Things didn’t change and we ended up breaking off the engagement after being together for 11 months.

One of the biggest regrets I have about my engagement was not waiting it out before I popped the question. I got caught up and didn’t go with my gut. When first falling in love, it is easy to feel like there is no one else in the world but this relationship, but when the love dust settles and we get back to our ‘normal’ selves, the dynamic of a relationship tends to change. People transition over time, and being in a successful relationship is all about sticking with each other through those tough transitions. It’s way too easy to break up with someone when things aren’t going well. It’s a quick, simple cop-out and it causes one to face themselves, which most of us can’t do. I constantly hear about people who get engaged after three-to-six months, and ‘that it’s the most amaaaaazing relationship they’ve ever had’, or that they’ve ‘never met anyone like this before’, only to be completely miserable six months to a year later. In a relationship you have to let shit simmer, it’s the only way to truly know if you’re right for each other. And hey, if you’re going to be together ‘forever’ anyway, what’s the fucking rush?

I think a lot of it is also control. A lot of men think that just because a ring is on a woman’s finger it will magically solve problems or keep a their women from doing something they don’t want them to do. Like, “If I give her this ring she’ll stop drinking/flirting/love me more”, and so on and so on. But it won’t, and will only end in an exercise on how to waste money. Sometimes I wonder if marriage is even doable anymore, and like we’re holding onto these ideals our grandparents had that simply aren’t relevant anymore. But then again, maybe I’ve just never really been in love.

This Weekend’s 1st Date With "The Dancer"

Mon, 18 Jan 2010 05:59:29 -0800

About a week and a half ago I met a very attractive half-Black Half-Filipina girl at a dinner party. I didn’t spend more than an hour-and-a-half with her but it was a pretty solid time. She was very positive and seemed to have a really optimistic outlook on life, which felt really good to be around considering I tend have somewhat of a jaded tinge to my view of the world. She told me that she’d consider me as ‘A make-out buddy’ (whatever that means), so I was looking forward to spending some more time with her.

Luckily there wasn’t any bullshit when it came to making plans. We had one 10-minute conversation in which we chatted and picked a night, then the day of we confirmed specifics and time in no more than 5 texts. Why can’t it always be that easy? I had plans earlier that evening and knew I’d be hungry, so I offered to take her to dinner at an Asian place I like and I picked her up at 8:30. She lives in a nice little Spanish influenced house in West Hollywood. When I first met her she claimed to be a struggling dancer, and whether she was either renting, or paying the mortgage on this place I knew that either way it wasn’t cheap. So my first mission on the date became; Operation How The Hell Can You Live There?

She asked me to call her when I got outside, I did, and she ran out and got into my car. Her fragrance punched me in the face and sent goose bumps throughout my body and I even felt little jingles and tingles in my cock. God I love that. Once again, she looked fucking amazing. Dark blue jeans, purple heels, a tight button up, long, wavy black hair and tons of jewelry. She’s petite, dark, has an amazing smile and she’s constantly glowing. When she got into the car she gave me a huge squeeze and said, “It’s SO good to see you”! Like we hadn’t seen each other in years. It set the date off right and I immediately felt totally comfortable. Like, right then and there I just knew that we were going to have a good time no matter what. And it felt awesome.

At the restaurant she ordered light, I was fucking starving but was a little bit afraid to show her know what an amazing fatso pig I am just yet, so I kept it simple and ordered the ramen. If I had been with a friend I would’ve ordered the pork fried rice, and an appetizer and then slammed my face into it like I was bobbing for hundred dollar bills. Dinner with her was great and she was constantly smiling, laughing and talking. She told me that she’d been a dancer for the last 7 years and had danced with a lot of big name artists and bands on tours, in video’s and on award shows. But, she said that as the record industry took a dive she began living gig-to-gig and had been having a hard time the last year-and-a-half or so. Despite the struggle she was extremely exited about life and was certain that things would turn around. I was impressed. She was incredibly inspiring, and by the end of the meal I felt amazing, and like I wanted to go climb Mount Everest! And by the end of dessert she’d filled my head with so much deep astrology crap about my sign, mercury, wind, water, the stars and universal energy that I almost felt like her and I were meant to fucking be together.

I didn’t want the date to end, she was exotic, interesting, she’d made me feel like a million bucks and I wanted more! So I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere else for a drink and she happily accepted. We lightly held each other while waiting for valet and it felt fucking good. I put my nose in her hair and could smell her shampoo or conditioner and again, jingles and tingles. We got into my car and I asked her where she wanted to go and she suggested Bar Marmont. I ordinarily wouldn’t ever go there, I’m much more of a mellow dive-bar kinda guy but I’d never been, I was on a first date and figured I should at least go once in my life. As we were pulling into the Bar Marmont valet I noticed that the sign said ‘Twelve Dollars” (which is RETARDED) and I suddenly realized that I’d used the last of my cash on the valet at the restaurant so I asked, “You don’t have any cash, do you? I ran out and just have a card”. I felt a little strange asking her for the money, but I did pay for dinner and was planning on buying at least the first round of drinks. The conversation that followed sent the date on a fucked up turn:

Her: Yes I have cash, but I’m not paying more than twelve.

Me: We gotta tip the guy a couple bucks, though. So is 14 cool?

Her: Twelve is as far as I’ll go, that’s way too expensive for valet.

Me: Umm, well, do you want to park on the street? We may have to walk for a long time, we’re on Sunset. Wanna just go somewhere else? …

The conversation came to a stalemate and my energy went from fuck yes! To you’re kind of a douche. Like, we’re at the fucking bar Marmont (that she suggested), when in Rome, ya know? I totally understand being strapped for cash and not wanting to pay for a highly overpriced valet, but I felt like she was just being cheap, stubborn and possibly spoiled, and after 30 seconds of pure silence while pulled over on the side of Sunset, and the valet guys staring at me like I was a grade-A dickhead, I sped off and headed to a bar I knew didn’t have valet. I kept thinking—What the fuck was that about?

I didn’t know how to address it. I wanted to call her out, but the first part of the evening had gone so well and I didn’t want to harp on it so I let it go let it go. On the way to bar 2 our conversation was light and odd. At the bar I tried to start over, so I decided to embark on: Operation How The Hell Can You Live There?

I boldly asked, “I loved your house, do you own it”? She said, “No, my roommate owns the house”. We began chatting about our mutual friends, and after a huge circle of conversation that is far too long to write about, the truth ended up being that she lived with her ex-boyfriend.

Eeeek!

It turns out that she broke up with her boyfriend of 3 years around 4 months ago, and he’s letting her continue to stay with him at his house until she gets back on her feet and moves out. I thanked her for her honesty. It can’t be very easy saying that to someone. But man, that’s a burning red flag if I’ve ever seen one. That’s a drama-bomb that’s just waiting to blow up in my lap and I just don’t think I can go there. She’s a hot chick with a pretty amazing personality, but has spoiled tendencies and lives with her ex. Sheesh. I dunno.

She kept saying, “We have an understanding. He knows I date and I know he dates, so, don’t worry about anything”. I drove her home after 1 drink kind of bummed and disappointed. I usually would’ve parked and walked her to her front door but I was too worried about getting stabbed so I just pulled up in front of her house, and even then, I was still expecting a fucking brick to come through my windshield at any moment.

She knew I was kind of erked by it all, but we gave each other a big old squeeze, kisses on the cheeks and said goodnight. She sent me a text last night telling me she had a good time and would like to hang again. I haven’t responded, which isn’t like me. I just don’t know what to do, but my gut says ‘No Way Dude’.

It’s like, I could tell myself—Dis-attach yourself emotionally and just go for the sex.—Which I could probably do and be sure to keep it away from her place. But what happens a month or 2 down the line? What if I start to like her? Do we end up in a strange place where we like each other a lot and she’s sleeping over my place 5 days a week with make-up in my bathroom and a few items of clothes in my closet because she has nowhere else to stay? I’m scared to go there, and feel like that’s not a very organic development to a relationship…(Sigh). Till the next one.

Single Mans Diary Turns One

Fri, 15 Jan 2010 00:04:00 -0800

One year ago today I went out with a chick I’d been fucking regularly. During our date she revealed to me that she had an anonymous blog in which she chronicled her sex life, then went on to tell me that her blog was very popular (50 whole tumblr followers) and that she’d written about me numerous times, as well as talked to some of her male followers about me. Throughout the night I asked her multiple times to show me what she’d written about me, but despite my begging and pleading, she refused.

I came home from the date early on the 15^th, probably around 2am, pissed and annoyed at her. I angrily plopped down on my couch and thought—Well if she’s going to write about me, then I’m going to write about her! I thought of a quick name, signed up for a tumblr account, created an email address and quickly wrote about her and a few other women I’d been dating. Then I slammed my laptop shut and went to bed. I went to work the next day and totally forgot about it until I came home later that day, and when I checked my tumblr account and not only did I have over 50 followers of my own, but a slew of emails…and singlemansdiary was born.

It’s been a pretty amazing fucking experience. I’ve met a lot of incredible people and learned a lot about myself, even writing a book, which is something I never thought I’d ever do in life. Over the course of the year I’ve watched a ton of singlelady/woman/girl/dude/guy spin-off’s pop up out of the woodworks, which has made me feel quite good actually. There have been a lot of people who’ve read and commented on almost every post since day one, (which is awesome) and even though I sometimes get a pretty bad tongue lashing, I love all of the comments no matter how harsh or how opinionated. It’s been so interesting to get inside the minds of others with quick, off-the-cuff posts and see what my honesty provokes in people, how they perceive it and how it makes them react. I really, really appreciate everyone who reads this blog and I truly value everyone’s opinion. You have all become my anonymous, virtual, faceless friends who hold a very special place in my heart and drive me to keep dating, blogging, looking for love and sharing my honest, unfiltered thoughts.

However, there has been a tad bit of an ugly side to it all. It’s pretty shocking how blatantly mean some people are, and how a simple blog can bring out the worst in someone. I can’t tell you how many comments and emails I’ve received from people who called me a “Nigger loving Jew”, or, “A Jew that should burn in hell”, or people that constantly call me a bitch or a fag. But hey, when in Rome, right?

When it comes down to it, I just say it like it is. I totally admit that at times I can be a bit shallow, cocky, insecure, bitchy, ridiculous and promiscuous, but it’s just how I am and that’s all this blog is. It’s my honest outlook and insight on dating and love while on the road to happiness. Trust me when I tell you that I’m ready to settle down and would’ve long ago if it felt right. I thought it might of happened earlier last year with the German girl, but alas she took off. So until then I’m just going to do my best. And along the way I might meet a girl I want to fuck, a girl I think is fat, fucking dumb, really annoying, much too smart or beautiful, too crazy, has a stinky pussy or who makes me feel fat and worthless. It’s all the reality of dating, the good, the bad & the follies.

I know a lot of folks have pegged me a certain way. There was a comment the other day about me wearing Ed-Hardy and going to Katsuya, which was fucking hilarious because I couldn’t be further from that guy (read this post). But I did go there once and saw Robert Downey Jr., so… that was pretty cool. One thing about this blog is that the facts are sometimes distorted, but the thoughts are real. This blog is the diary of a single man, and it’s what men really think. It’s the shit they’re afraid to say or talk about. Not all men, of-course, but most. I can’t tell you how many men have written me privately to thank me for bringing up certain topics they can’t talk to anyone about, and how many women have told me that I confirmed their suspicions about the men they currently date. I’m not saying I’m right, but I’m definitely not wrong. I’m just me. Thanks for reading, and here’s to another crazy year.

Oh, and feel free to email me any topics you’d like to discuss.

Let's Get Physical

Wed, 13 Jan 2010 10:11:19 -0800

Like many other single men, looks, style and physical appearance have always been a huge issue for me. Being attractive is extremely important and has completely controlled my life at times. A lot of single men struggle to stand out physically nowadays, especially in a city like LA where women can pick & choose good looking, successful men as they please. As a man who stands 6’ 2, weighs in at 185 and works out 5 days a week, who’s worked his way up to a 6 figure income, a luxury car, a larger-than-needed home and a robust wardrobe, I’ve always considered myself just slightly above average, whatever that means. I’ve always strived to be better, live a fuller life and be in better shape, drive a nicer car, make even more money and live in an even larger home. It’s never been enough, and it’s all revolved around looking good and how people, women in particular, perceive me.

Image is everything. Life boils down to how a woman perceives me within the first few seconds of me walking through the door, and then edging out the competition with a cooler haircut, better body, nicer outfit and a newer, hotter car. And when courting a woman, us single men need to be that much more witty, successful, smart and romantic. We need to fuck better, be more cultured and thoroughly impress a woman more than the next guy will. We need to be walking billboards for power, stature, masculinity and strength, all with a dash of sensitivity, which really means we know the difference between Georgia O’Keefe and George Webster. We need to be unbreakable, impervious, stoic and impenetrable, with a great sense of humor and a great set of abs. Sure, a 30K a year salary and decent personality will go a long way, too. But I feel that in this day & age a man needs much, much more. I have a lot of female friends who vent to me about the difficulties of being a woman and how meticulous the constant upkeep can be. I don’t doubt it one bit! I mean, putting on make up looks like torture! But men have an entirely different pressure, and in 2010 we need to look just as good as women do as well as make a ton of money.

When I was a kid I went through a fat stage and was verbally bashed every day, and those comments stuck to me, which caused me to always dislike my body. But hey, I’m a Jewish man. Being a little chubby, a little neurotic, a little pasty and a little hairy is what Jewish men do best, and like a good Jew I’ve been sticking to tradition my whole life. But I always strived to be in great shape and have a better than average body.

At 16 I started playing sports and working out, which toned me up and packed on a little muscle. It made me more confident about myself, but I still hated the way my stomach and love handles looked. In my 20’s my body began to develop and my ass became hairy, and anytime a woman ran her hands across my love handles, stomach or ass I became mortified, sometimes even pushing her hands away. In my mind I just knew that she thought my body was disgusting and that she’d much rather be with a guy who was smoother, tighter and much more ripped.

When past girlfriends have suggested coastal beach towns for getaways or vacations I always declined, and instead chose a city, somewhere colder or a place where I wouldn’t have to expose myself too much. I’ve even turned women off by my insecurity, with constant self-deprecating remarks such as, “God I’m so fat,” or “How can you like my fat ass?” or even, “I’m fucking disgusting.” After a month or more of constantly hearing those types of remarks some women threatened to stop dating me if I didn’t stop. I haven’t been to the beach or poolside with my friends, ever. Literally. I avoid pool parties or beach gatherings like the plague because I am deathly afraid they will silently judge me, or talk about how surprisingly fat I am with my shirt off. Living that way has practically been torture. I’m much better now than I was, but sometimes it still gets me.

Make Out Buddies

Thu, 07 Jan 2010 10:13:00 -0800

*I will start this post off with a disclaimer and let you know that I’m way hungover. My stomach hurts and I can’t see straight, so this post may be a rambling, bumbling nightmare.

OK! SO!

I went to a dinner party last night and met a very beautiful Asian/Indian/Puerto Rican/Black mix of something or other. I couldn’t tell exactly what she was and I never asked. But when she walked in the front door wearing black skinny jeans, a grey top, sandals, large gold hoops and a long green sweater inside I went, “Fuuuuck.” Actually, I’m looking at her Facebook pictures now and I think she’s Black & Asian, or maybe Black & Indian. Fuck I can’t tell. Uh oh, I just came across a picture of her with Lil Wayne. (Kill me)

Anyway, she was really beautiful and as soon as I saw her she became my mission for the evening. Men like to do that, conquer things, and conquer women in particular. It’s the way we’re wired and it’s all fucked up. If a single guy walks into a room and notices a cute girl he isn’t thinking, “It would be quite wonderful to make that lovely lady’s acquaintance today!” No, not at all, it’s more like, “That chick is fucking MINE! I must claim her and take her to my lair!” So, when I saw her I definitely wanted to claim her. Big time. Actually wouldn’t that make life so much easier? Imagine if a guy could walk up to a woman, grab her and declare, “I claim this woman!” Then take her back to his liar, build a fire, feed her meat and fuck her brains out. Can you imagine how much money men would save? I mean I’d probably be able to stop leasing an overpriced car, apartment and never buy clothes again.

Anyway—by some strange “coincidence”, or stroke of “luck” we just happened to sit next to each other at dinner! Strange! She was probably one of the happiest people I’ve met in a very long time and I loved her positive attitude. She’s a struggling dancer who lives job-to-job and audition-to-audition, and even though she was fighting various day-to-day life problems like an old car that needed repairs and late utility bills she was joyful and enthusiastic about life. She spoke about little accomplishments in her life that seemed small to me, but to her were huge and meaningful. Throughout our conversation I kept thinking, “Wow, I could really use her—or someone like her—in my life.”

She had to leave early and I walked her to her car. I walked her to her car, which was an old Lexus with a smashed rear end. I asked her for her number and as I hit save in my blackberry she said something that struck me as odd, she said, “Yah let’s go out, maybe we can be make out buddies”, in a joking tone. I responded, “What’s a make out buddy?” And she said, “You know, someone that you hang out with and make out with once in a while”. I wasn’t sure how to take it and I still don’t. Was she saying it because I wasn’t good enough to be considered as anything but a make out buddy? Was she saying it because she wanted to make out and then take things further on future dates? And btw, what’s a make out buddy anyway?

It’s like this, I love love love to kiss. Especially those first few times…fuck, it’s magical and incredibly sensual, especially when you really like the girl. But as much as I love to kiss, I get bored of it rather quickly. Well…not bored, more like worked the hell up and I want more. Kissing doesn’t really fill any void for me, or most men I’m guessing. I’ve known a lot of girls in the past who’ve gone to out to a bar with the sole purpose being to drunk and make out with a guy and that’s IT. I’ve always been so curious about it. What void does making out fill for women and how do they not want more? Is it just a little flash of intimacy? The feeling of being wild without potentially being dirty, or is it just being smart and not fucking the first thing they see—which men aren’t smart enough not to do—?

I’m exhausted.

Heavy Rotation

Tue, 05 Jan 2010 08:20:11 -0800

At the time I started this blog I was probably having sex with 6 or 7 different women, and to successfully handle all of these women I had to use a very careful rotation. The rotation has always been a juggling act that I’ve rather enjoyed, and became quite good at. It’s sleazy game that a lot of single men play. Most do it all wrong and end up in some dramatic argument after purposely—or carelessly—slipping up, making it obvious to one of the women he’s sleeping with, that he’s also sleeping with one—or more than one—woman.

When single, 95% of the time the people we date vary from “apartment only” dates—aka too ugly, overweight, old, young, retarded or plain fucking stupid to be seen with you in public—, to “Ok to bring to a friends party” dates, but rarely does someone end up relationship material. I met—and still meet— a lot of amazing women who were gorgeous, and whom I clicked with physically and mentally but weren’t quite enough for me to commit to. I didn’t want them to be my girlfriend, but I respected and liked them more than enough to date and share my life with. We’d have dinner or drinks once or sometimes twice a week and usually have sex. Some were worthy of sleepovers, and some weren’t.

The theory behind my rotation is an odd mixture of common sense, insecurity, extreme paranoia, thrill and last but not least, a perverse lifestyle. First off, I never, ever let any of the women I date know that I am having sex with other women, and If questioned I keep my answers as vague as possible by saying something like; “I’m open to dating, but not really looking for anything serious”. I always try to be as honest as possible when I date, but it can be a very fine line. To me, blatantly telling a woman I am dating that I am also fucking someone else is a huge no-no. It only leads to hurt feelings and drama, and if her and I aren’t in a relationship I don’t really see why it matters. But mostly, I think about if the roles were reversed, and how I definitely do not want to know if a woman I am dating is fucking another dude. Hell no! That will piss me off and make me insecure as all hell.

Secondly, as a single man I love the variety, and to me the constant freshness is the best part about not being in a relationship. I enjoy the fact that I can have sex with a different girl every night if I choose, because each woman looks, feels, tastes, laughs, talks and fucks differently. If my Tuesday night fuck doesn’t like her ass licked, most likely my Thursday one will. Each woman enjoys different activities and has her own quirky personality and sense of humor. It’s one of the elements that keep’s my single life fun, exciting and crisp.

However there is an element to the rotation that I definitely don’t enjoy. The constant maintenance of the rotation can become sleazy and the energy and constant brainpower it takes to manage texts, emails and schedule’s can be absolutely exhausting. The fear of running into one of the women your fucking while on a date with another is always present, so when scheduling, being aware of where all of your other fuck buddies like to hang and party is key. The constant upkeep of the daily half-truths you tell women regarding your whereabouts requires an amazing memory. Because when on a date with a girl you haven’t seen in a couple weeks and she says, “How was that birthday party you were busy with last week”, you don’t want to be sitting there saying, “What birthday party?” Busted! Managing personalities can also be incredibly draining, and you never know whom you’re really dating. But despite all of the constant management and FBI type perseverance, sometimes it will still bite you in the ass.

For example, at one point I began fucking a 24 year old. I immediately knew she wasn’t right for me, but she had a, “I’ll try anything”, attitude that was very sexy and highly magnetic. I respected her a great deal and we always had a lot of fun together! We fucked in public a few times; she blew me in a bar and was always down to hang. Dating her was a blast, BUT she was only 24, and it wouldn’t take long for her immaturity to rear its ugly head. After 6 or 7 wild dates we went to an event and ran into some of her friends. During introductions one of her friends said, “So you must be the boyfriend”, to which I responded, “No, I’m not”. Evil looks ensued and after the event she demanded to know where our relationship was headed. I explained to her that I liked her but wasn’t interested in a relationship at that point in time, and if she’d rather not see me anymore that I would understand. She responded, “Oh that’s fine, I don’t want anything serious either”. As the weeks went by she began to ask me for plans multiple times a week and whenever I told her I was busy she’d drill me about my whereabouts and ask whom I was hanging with. It started to get strange and I decided to not see her anymore.

One night I told her I was busy with a work event— which was half-true, only what I didn’t tell her was that I was bringing one of my other fucks with me. I had decided to officially break it off with her—even though we weren’t together—at some point very soon. A friend of hers happened to be at the same event that evening—but I had no idea—and when my date and I came back to my house later that evening I pulled my Blackberry from my pocket and was stunned to see 10 missed calls from her, and an email that read, “A friend of mine saw you tonight. Who were you with? Call me ASAP”! It was 1:30am and I quickly responded via Blackberry, “Call you tomorrow”, thinking that I’d officially give her the ax in the morning. I brushed my teeth, fucked my date and we both knocked out.

I was startled out of a deep sleep at 6:45am by my doorbell and a fist pounding on my door. Yes, 6:45am! The sun wasn’t up yet and it was dark, I was half asleep and scared completely shittless. Then I heard a female voice coming from my front door, “Hello? Are you there? I need to talk to you! Hello? Hello”? I put on some clothes and raced to the door. She was standing in my fucking doorway in her pajamas with her hair pointing in all sorts of wacky directions. She immediately said, “Who were you with last night”? I slammed my door, grabbed her arm and briskly walked her to her car before saying, “What the FUCK are you doing? How dare you come to my place like this”! She said, “Just tell me this, were you out with another girl last night”? I responded, “Yes, and she’s here! We aren’t in a relationship! It’s over, goodbye”! Then I had to walk back inside and do some extreme damage control with the woman I had in my bed. I was mortified.

That was a good lesson for me as I was a little out of control. I got sloppy, and because I had so many women in rotation I began to lose myself and live into the circle of bullshit I was constantly telling them. I’m exhausted just reliving it.

My 4th Date With “The Po Po”, and The Vagina Carrot

Mon, 04 Jan 2010 00:35:00 -0800

Happy 2010 errbody. I hope you all had a nice Holiday and that this decade is everything that last decade wasn’t. I had a rather relaxing and somewhat boring holiday up in the mountains with my family, hiking, drinking, writing, eating great food and appreciating the wilderness. I really enjoyed being alone in my cabin for the first few days, but then I began to get despondent and lonely, wishing I had someone special there with me. We stayed at this little bed and breakfast and like a douche bag I tried to hit on a couple of chicks that were passing through, but they weren’t having any of my desperate bullshit.

Due to the above I think I set new personal masturbation records, though. I’m talking about extreme levels self-loathing, boredom and perversion. 4 to 6 times a day on some occasions. A lot of time and an Internet connection will do that to a man. But in general I had a good time and I love my family dearly. I’m looking forward to starting 2010 off right and I’m excited about what types of women the new decade will bring. My last date of 2009 pretty summed up the whole year, and that was my 4^th date with, “The Po Po”.

My last date with her turned out to be uneventful, physically. We ended up making out on the couch and she yanked my hand away from her crotch with swat team type hands when I tried, which was fine, but caused me to raise an eyebrow when she invited me over to her house to watch X-Men Origins for our 4^th date. Inviting someone over to watch a movie is basically asking him or her to have sex, so I was wondering what had changed.

I arrived at her apartment at 8:30 and she opened the door wearing pink pajamas and drinking a beer, which confused me 10X more than I already was. I could only assume that she wanted to have sex, or at the very least hook up. She definitely wasn’t fucking around, though and had the DVD in, popcorn made, beers on the table and one small table lamp on. All I had to do was sit down and relax. We watched the movie—which was pretty awesome—cuddling and flirting the whole time. I’d rub my hand on her inner thigh, she’d hold my hand and rub my palm with her thumb and we’d give each other light kisses periodically. It’s obvious that she does some serious working out because even though she’s a little thick, her body is rock hard. Her legs, ass and stomach were tight and toned. It was a huge turn on!

After the movie—and 2 hours of warming up—I was horny and went right for it as the credits were rolling and we got into a heavy make out session. I was pretty sure that we were going to fuck, and when she stood up and pulled me into her bedroom I was 100% certain that it was ON. I was surprised! And I kept thinking to myself—I wonder what made her want to do this? After making out for 5 more minutes she pulled of my shirt, unzipped my pants and began rubbing my cock. I took it to the next level by slowly and excitingly sliding my hand under her panties. Yippe! However, just when things were beginning to get good I encountered the largest nest of wet hair I have ever felt in my entire life, literally, and I became thoroughly disgusted.

As soon as my hand touched her vagina I made the same face a baby makes after sucking on a lemon. I blocked it out and began to rub her clit, which produced deep groans and squirming. My whole hand was soaking wet, I was a little repulsed and after 5 minutes I just couldn’t take it anymore. I pulled my hand up and was overwhelmed by the worst post-finger bang aroma I had ever smelled in my life!—Oh WOW, that’s really, REALLY bad! I thought, and I almost gagged. How does that happen? It was the kind of smell that was going to stay on my hand for days after. And it definitely did. It was so bad in fact that I had to let HER know just how bad she smelled, so I put my hand right up against her cheek as if to say, “You REALLY need to smell this!”

She either didn’t have senses or didn’t mind it because she didn’t react at all. The whole thing was intense, and I rolled onto my back to get a breather. She rolled onto her side and said, “Before we have sex I just need to know where you think this is headed”? I responded, “Huh”? She continued, “I like you but I don’t have sex with just anyone, so if we have sex I just need to know that this is going to be more than just sex”. I didn’t know what to say. I respected her for not wanting to just fuck anyone, but I didn’t appreciate the fact that she stripped me almost naked only to use her body like a vagina carrot.

I said, “I’m not really sure how to respond. When we spoke about this on our first date I mentioned that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I think you’re great, but unfortunately I still feel the same way”. Between the vagina carrot and the vagina stink I became totally turned off, so when she said, “Well maybe we should slow down”, I happily agreed. We made out for a short while longer before chatting for a bit, and then I finally left. That was a few days before I left for my family vacation and we haven’t spoken since. As much as I wanted the fantasy and thrill of having sex with a cop I just don’t think this one’s going to happen. Even if she called me today and said, “Come fuck me ASAP”, I’m not even sure if I’d go there. But shit, it’s a new decade. There are plenty of other cops—and clean vaginas out there waiting for me. And hopefully soon, I’ll find one. Cheers.

Merry X-Mas

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 09:17:50 -0800

Merry X-mas everyone. SMD will be on a relaxing—and potentially very boring—vaycay in the woods with family to sip egg nog and work on my book until Jan 4th.

Be sure to check back then to read about my 4th date with “The Po Po”, and to celebrate the 1 year anniversary of SMD.

Thanks to everyone for reading. I hope you recieve some great gifts, and fuck someone strange on new years. I fucking love you all.

Join the mailing list to have posts sent to you upon my return.

Single Man

White People, An Awesome Vagina, An Ear Slap & A Drunk Chick

Tue, 22 Dec 2009 14:13:06 -0800

I’m obviously a white guy, a pale, mildly hairy, Jewish white guy. I love all people, too. Blacks, Asian’s, Latinos, Europeans, Gays, Mormons, depressed people, scat lovers, alcoholics, Eskimo’s, whoever. Put me in a room with a group of anyone and I’ll have a blast. However, once in a while there is a group of folks that I have trouble being around. It’s like, there is a disconnect when I am with them. And while I try my hardest to apply myself, something always happens that rubs me the wrong way or makes me feel uncomfortable. And that group is, other White people. Not all White people of-course, but there are 2 types of Whites that I’ve always felt a little out of place with.

1.) Hollywood Whites. You’ll find these Whites at Les Deux or Hyde, riding the coattails of “The Hills” cast members.

2.) Orange County Whites. The guy’s drive monster trucks and women wear jewelry tops. They also tend to act like no one in the world matters but them.

However, I’ve spent a lot of time with both groups and they all have many great things going for them. Like, tons of money, the women are all extremely attractive, and they definitely know how to have a great time and can get pretty fucking wild. I’ve had many amazing times with both, but once in a while I tend to run into a group where things just seem off and go a little south. That was my last Saturday night.

I went to a holiday party at an apartment in Beverly Hills with one of my oldest female friends. I’ve known her since Jr. High and love her to death. A few friends of hers from Orange County who she hadn’t seen in years were throwing the party. We walked into the apartment and were greeted by an extremely loud, Ed-Hardy thermal, fedora, and huge Chrome Heart chain wearing guy. “OOOOOH MYYY GAAAAAWD!” He said as he practically tackled my friend, totally oblivious that he spilled half his drink in the process. After we were introduced and he smacked my hand as hard as he possibly could and gave me a huge hug. I thought—Jesus dude, calm the fuck down!

The apartment was beautiful and decorated just like one of one of Gordon Ramsay’s “London” restaurants. There were 4 guys, each wearing more Ed-Hardy than the next, and 10 chicks who were all very, very hot. As toolish as stupid as these guy’s were, they sure knew how to get beautiful women. I was jealous. As I was introducing myself to everyone in the apartment one of the women said, “I already know who you are, silly”, and gave me a big hug. It was a girl named Jenny I hadn’t seen in probably 7 years, and whom I have somewhat of a shady history with.

It was back in 2003 or 2004 and I had been dating a girl for 2+ years. We were living together and decided to throw a party in our backyard. At that point our relationship was falling apart. We hadn’t had sex in a couple months and I didn’t really give a shit. We were on the verge of breaking up and the only reason we hadn’t was because I didn’t want to deal with the hassle of packing up my shit and sleeping on a friends couch while I tried to find a new place. 3 or 4 hours into the party, Jenny—who was friends with my ex—and I went in the house to use the bathroom. We were both drunk, and I ended up going into the bathroom with her. I picked her up, dumped her on the bathroom counter and ate her out. All that was fine, except that another friend of my ex girlfriend saw us through the bathroom window, then ran and told my ex AND Jenny’s boyfriend.

I cleaned my mouth off and we both walked into the backyard like nothing happened, only to step into a shitstorm of yelling, crying, hitting and total fucking chaos. It was fucking bad. I got my wish and we broke up. But it came with a shitty reputation and a few scratches, too. It’s been almost 7 years and I’m a totally different person, but unfortunately Jenny didn’t change. She was haaaaamered, and was funny and polite…at first.

Later that night 5 of us ended up in a circle playing a light-hearted game of Truth-Or-Dare. It was my turn, I chose “dare”, and one of the girls said, “Amy got her vagina waxed today. I dare you to touch it!” Amy was no doubt the hottest girl at the party. 19 years old, long brown hair, 5’10 with jet-black stiletto’s on, black glittery spandex, a wife beater tank top and a shit load of jewelry. The suggestion of me touching Amy’s waxed vagina sparked a series of very obnoxious comments from every Ed-Hardy asshole in the room. “YEAAAHHH BRO!!! FUCKING TOUCH HER BEAVER DUDE!”

I thought—no way in hell this chick is going to whip out her pussy in front of the whole room. But before I could even finish my thought she grabbed her spandex with both thumbs and pulled them down, revealing her goods. The whole room went wild, and I reached in and began my OB-GYN exam. Her vagina was perfect; zero hair and tight as could possibly be. Her vagina was just a small slit in between her legs, no clit, no lips and no puffiness. It was a picture perfect vagina, sent from the god’s of vaginaville.

She let me rub her pubic area for 2 or 3 seconds before giggling and pulling her pants up, which set off another series of retarded comments from the Ed-Hardy squad. “DON’T STOP DUDE, FINGER HER BRO FUCKING FINGER FUCK HER!! FIN-GER! FIN-GER” I fucking hated them with all of my guts. An hour later, there were 10 of us on the balcony. My old friend Jenny was stumbling at this point and she came outside to say goodbye as she was going to crash in one of the bedrooms. Just before she left she pointed at me and said, “This guy right here. This guy’s a fffuggin FUCKhead! He cheat’s on his girlfriends”, and she walked away. I was pretty embarrassed, but luckily no one cared.

After a few hours I hit a wall. I couldn’t take the screaming and the rude comments anymore so my friend and I decided to leave. We both walked up to the Ed-Hardy squad leader to say goodbye. He was drunk, and gave my friend a long, dramatic hug and kiss. Then he looked at me and said, “DUDE! This chick is like my sister bro! You better treat her right!” And the next thing I know, BOOM! He smacked me in the ear! I thought—you MOTHERFUCKER!

He quickly apologized and hugged me again. I pushed him off, which caused him to trip on himself and fall on the floor. He apologized again and we walked out. I was shocked. I hadn’t been in a situation like that since I was in high school, and I will never try to fight anyone. But that’s the shit I’m talking about, and why I sometimes don’t click with certain groups of White people. I’m much too mellow and bitchy for all that. It was quite a night!

My "Gay"-zy Sunday

Mon, 21 Dec 2009 00:23:00 -0800

Had quite an interesting weekend. I got slapped in the ear by a douche, felt the most amazing vagina I’ve ever felt—on a 19 year old, in front of 5 people— got hit on by a LOT of men, felt an amazing pair of tits, revisited some scandalous moment’s from my past and last but not least, called a fuckhead by a drunk chick. I’d say that all adds up to a pretty successful weekend. I guess we’ll start with yesterday, my Gay-zy Sunday.

I received a call from my latest eff-bud, crazy Jeri, asking me if I’d like to join her for drinks Sunday afternoon at a girl bar in West Hollywood, while she got buzzed and flirted with girls. How the fuck could I say no? I mean, really people… I picked up Geri and 3pm and we set off to the bar. Once there we grabbed a table on the patio. At this particular bar, Martini’s are half-off all day Sundays. I don’t really like Martini’s all that much, but with those recession busting prices I was going to be one fruity martini drinking bastard, which actually seemed quite ironic and fitting, considering our surroundings. And for those of you who don’t live in LA, it was a cool 73 degrees yesterday, and while fruity Martini’s aren’t my favorite thing in the world, I definitely appreciated the fact that I could drink one outdoors on December the fucking 20^th.

The bar had its fair share of lesbians, but it was far from a “girl bar”. The ratio was probably 60% men, 40% women. So it was more of a gay jamboree than anything. Jeri and I both ordered apple Martini’s and began checking out the scene. The crowd was colorful and cheerful. Everyone around us was having a great time, laughing, talking and flirting. Jeri and I began getting eyes immediately. She would say, “That guy over there will not stop looking at you”, which I was totally oblivious to, and visa versa. I’m not sure if any of you reading this has been to a gay bar before, but they ooze sexuality. I could feel the sexual tension all around me, and it made me feel quite alive.

Some of the lesbians in the bar were gorgeous, and looked just like “Shane” from the L-Word. Some were fat and looked like male gang-bangers/thugs. Now I love my gay’s, and some of my oldest LA friends are gay, but there is one thing I’ve never quite understood about the gay culture, and it’s why homosexual people—of either gender—try to emulate members of the gender they don’t like. For example, If I were 100% gay, meaning I did not like women, why would I go after a man that act’s feminine? Jeri and I were discussing it and she said, “I don’t understand butch women. When I mess around with a woman it’s because I want her for just that. I like her long hair, smooth skin and tight body. I like the femininity. I don’t want a woman that looks like a man. I’d rather just fuck a guy”.

Anyway, after our 1^st drink I went to the bar to get us a 2^nd round. During the 40-foot walk to the bar I could feel the male eyes on me like infrared sniper-rifle scopes. Guy’s were eye-fucking me, making little comments and pointing me out to their friends. When I got to the bar I ordered our drinks and as I waited some old blonde man sitting at the bar began hitting on me. He was fucking disgusting and had huge collagen duck lips, and as soon as I paid, some other dude tried to holler at me! It was exhausting, and as flattering as it was, all of the attention actually made me feel bad for women. I thought—Wow! This is what a girl must go through every day of her life! I felt like a fawn in a cage with a pack of hungry wolfs.

I brought Jeri her drink and told her about my gay obstacle course. She said, “God that’s hot. I can’t wait to see you with a guy”. Before I could respond another guy and girl crashed our table and sat down without asking. The girl was OKAY. She had a cute face and a thick pair of legs. As she sat down she said to Jeri, “I was noticing you and wanted to say hi!” The guy was pretty damn feminine and looked just like the blonde dude in, “Queer Eye For The Straight Guy”. He asked me if I was straight and I told him I was, then in a very gay swagger he said, “That’s too bad honey. You know, I can hook up with someone within 13 minutes, anywhere in the world. I can hook up in any bar, airport, bookstore, anywhere. You straight boys can’t do that. Plus, I could eat you up because you are yummyyyy! You better be careful in here honey, a yummy straight boy in a gay bar is a dangerous thing.”

You know, he’s probably right, and that’s pretty crazy. 13 minutes, anywhere in the world? Now that would be a great blog! Anyway, my head was swimming in gayness and I had to piss so I excused myself. I got in a long line for the bathroom—of-course there was zero line for the women’s bathroom—and shuffled along while bobbing my head to awful house music and wondering what the hell I was doing there. 2 or 3 gays ahead of me, some guy noticed me and began saying something to me. I couldn’t hear him over the music so I pointed to my ear with a smile as if to say, “Can you repeat that?” He said it again, but I still couldn’t hear. He said it once more and yet again I didn’t understand. So I walked towards him, lowered my head and leaned in with my right ear. As I leaned in to listen, he leaned in and totally tried to kiss me!

I said, “WOAH!” And pushed him back. His buddy grabbed him and said, “He’s drunk, I’m so, so sorry!” Everyone around us laughed and I felt dirty. I barely made my way back to our table and Jeri and her new friend were now holding hands and kissing a little. She bought us a 3^rd round and they went dancing. I stayed at the table and kept chatting with the blonde gay, who actually turned out to be a really cool dude. 20 minutes later, Jeri pulled me onto the dance floor and I began dancing with her and her new friend. The dancing was hot. We went back and forth from them sandwiching me, to me dancing with one, then the other, to them dancing and making out with each other while I watched.

By 6pm I was hammered and we were all back at the table. Jeri asked the girl to come home with us but she said no, no to me anyway… They exchanged numbers; we stayed for a few more minutes and then took a cab home. But not before a couple more gay’s tried to hit on me. In general, I had a blast. But the gay bar was one sleazy place and I’m not sure if I’ll go back. I like the fact that I can be with Jeri at a gay bar and can be myself. I like flirting with the other side, and the fact that I don’t have to do it alone it refreshing. I debated on whether or not to blog about these experiences for a long time, but according to 99% the people who answered my poll, you definitely want to read about it. Men included.

Will be back tomorrow with Saturday night’s fun & drama.

Last Night’s 3rd Date With “The Po Po”, and The Kick-Start Method

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 08:47:06 -0800

I tried to see, “The Po Po”, last weekend but no go. She had to work. However, I was lucky enough to score a date last night. I find solace in going on dates during the weekdays. It feels much more relaxed and intimate. Friday and Saturday nights have an odd pressure to them. The weekends feel so much more like, “date night”, and on a weekday you can just call it, “drinks”. On a weekday you can also hit a decent bar without fighting a crowd or loud music. If you happen to hook up, you can pull a weekday excuse like; “I need to get up early for work”, or, “I have a trainer at 8am”, or maybe even, “I have therapy at 9”. It’s endless.

Anyway, I didn’t have an excuse. But she did; work at 7am, and the thought of her getting ready for work, putting on those L.A.P.D. blues made me giddy inside. I envisioned it like a movie, military war drums would play as she showered and put her hair into a super tight ponytail, and she’d then lace up her boots and put on a bulletproof vest before loading her fucking shotgun. And of-course she wouldn’t walk out the door before putting on her aviator cop sunglasses.

Goddamn I have fun writing this blog.

Anyway, we agreed to go to a bar near her place and I was stoked. The fucked up thing, though is that I’ve definitely been thinking about crazy Jeri way more than I should be. I saw her again this past weekend. She was on her period and ended up fingering my ass while jerking me off all over her face. Who does that!? Not many, and that’s the problem. The sex has me saying, “Let’s hang”, when she calls me on a Friday afternoon to see what I’m doing that evening. That, and neither of us have anything better to do or anyone else to see at the moment. But that’s a whole other post.

I arrived at 7:30 and parked, as the bar was only 3 blocks from her place. We actually walked in LA! Amazing. I called after parking and she told me she’d be right down. I wondered why she didn’t invite me up to her place to give me the tour. She came down and gave me a big hug and I kissed her on the cheek. She was wearing the exact same outfit she had on the last time we went out, which was ok since she looked great, but I thought—is everything else dirty? I can’t really say shit, though. I have this 1 pair of jeans that I probably wear 8 out of every 10 times I go out. I just switch my tops and shoes.

We went to a bar and I listened to some of the most amazing, jaw dropping cop stories I’ve ever heard. I wish I could share them because they’re really rich, but I just can’t. The Po Po can slam beers like nobody’s business, and as I was finishing my 2^nd vodka/soda, she was half way through her 4^th beer. Fuckin-A. Just like the last date, she kept saying, “dude”, and throughout the night I had her laughing and half heartedly smacking my arm as I would throw, “dude”, in at the end of a phrase or sentence. She’d always say, “Stop it you!” While laughing and reaching for me. At one point—after my 3^rd vodka/soda and her 5^th beer—we stood up and she showed me various cop holds, wrist-locks and pressure point areas. And they fucking hurt!

We walked back to her place with our arms around each other. I felt an odd comfort in being with her, like I was protected. She’s a lady of the law. She has power. If we got into trouble she’d be able to fucking kick anyone’s ass—including mine. When we got back to her place she invited me up. Her place was nice, but it wasn’t really anything special. She lives in one of those huge, multi-unit apartment buildings where every unit looks the same. It wasn’t decorated all that well, either. I wouldn’t of known she was an officer of the law other than a police graduation picture she had of herself on her TV stand.

She offered me another drink but I declined. She opened a 6^th beer and we sat on her couch. I didn’t waste any time and went in for the kiss no more than 2 minutes after we sat down, and the hot make out session began. I thought—Yes! I was certain that I’d at least get to finger her, which I was dying to do. I really wanted to see what she had going on down there. We made out, and made out, and made out some more. My hands wandered, feeling her legs, chest and stomach. Finally, after 7 min or so I began to rub her pussy over her jeans. She was responsive, but as soon as I went to undo her belt she pulled my hand away.

No biggie, and I’m never one to pressure. So I went back to kissing. Now I don’t know if this happens to any of you men out there, but unless I really, really like the girl, after kissing someone for over 10 minutes without anything else sexual happening begin to get really bored. I love to kiss, but I can only kiss for so long before I need to move onto the next step. Some hand-play, some clothing removal, something. I started to become bored, so I pulled a move that I hoped would get her into action, rub on me, give me oral, or something more than what we were doing. I call it, “The Kick-start Method”.

While we were kissing, her back was on the couch and I was leaning on top of her. I initiated the kick-start method by simply switching positions, leaning back on the couch while pulling her on top of me. By doing this, it leaves my body fully exposed and 1 of her hands completely free to touch me. Once I have her on top of me I begin to get deeper into the kissing, as if her being on top of me is suddenly a huge a turn on. If she starts rubbing my chest or legs I moan a little, hinting to go lower and touch my cock. The whole point of this is to try and kick-start her into action to hopefully do something other than just kiss me.

This method works 60% of the time. However, last night it failed. She didn’t even go near my cock. It’s ok though. I’m in no rush. We made out on and off for a solid 30 minutes before I excused myself to pee. After 3 vodka/soda’s, I really had to go. I left at 10pm so she could go to bed and get up early for her 7am shift. She walked me to the elevator and we kissed goodnight. I had fun with The Po Po! She’s awesome, and I’m looking forward to seeing her again.

Groupies

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 07:33:00 -0800

In my early 20’s I went through a short phase where I wanted to be a rock star. A buddy and I thought we had the right stuff and put together an acoustic duo. We’d play little gigs at smaller bars, coffee shops and open mics around LA. We were trying to be an early 2000’s Simon & Garfunkel, but we fucking sucked, so it was more like Sucky & Garfaggot.

We didn’t have much luck, and eventually came to the conclusion that it had to be the LA scene, not us, and that our awesomely raspy voiced, sensitive guitar tunes and meaningful lyrics were just way too deep and sophisticated for pretentious, LA assholes. We somehow figured that we’d have better luck in Seattle, so my friend began making calls to clubs. After a few weeks of calling around he booked enough gig’s for us to make a road trip up for a few days. Fuck yeah, we were going on fucking TOUR!

Both of us had crap cars that couldn’t handle the 954-mile drive, so we borrowed a van from a friend who only agreed to let us use it if we gave him 100 bucks as well as gassed and washed it upon our return. DEAL. We packed up our guitars and headed north. Our first gig was also our largest. We were the first “band” out of 6, playing the early set at a 500 person capacity club. We arrived 2 hours early for sound check, which consisted of one of us strumming our guitars on stage for 3 seconds before the soundman yelled, “Ok great”, and shut off the mic.

Still, we felt like fucking rockstars, and after “sound check” we collected our free drink tickets and immediately hit the bar. My buddy and I were sitting in the club—which was totally empty—drinking beers, when we noticed a couple of girls passing out flyers and CD’s on all of the tables and countertops. They began chatting with us. Neither were really all that great looking, both were a little chunky and had that oily skinned Seattle look. They had been hired to pass out flyers and CD’s for 5 bucks an hour, and of-course free admission to the club. We explained to them that we were one of the bands, and had 8 free drink tickets.

As soon as they realized we were huge rock gods that could also get them a couple free drinks, the CD’s and flyers went by the wayside and they jumped on us like white on rice. We paired up and hung out for a couple of hours while having free beers. The girls even agreed to come back to our hotel room afterwards. While they weren’t looking my buddy quickly turned to me and said, “Groupies!” Then, it was time to leave the ladies behind because it was fucking show time! My buddy and I played a 20-minute set to no more than 50 people. The club opened their doors during our first song and people slowly trickled in throughout the set. It didn’t matter, though. We were on the fucking road, and had already lined up our first groupies within 3 hours of arriving in Seattle. During the show they even stood at the front of the stage and cheered us on the whole time, I thought—This is what being a rock star is all about!

After the show we walked back to our hotel. I’m not sure if it was because she was drunk, but the groupie I paired up with began talking more shit than I’d ever heard any girl talk before. She said, “You’ve never been with a girl like me. I’m the best you’ll ever have. You probably won’t be able to handle this”. All of her shit talking totally psyched me out, and by the time we got back to the hotel I was actually afraid to hook up with her. I figured with all of the talking she was doing, her sexual skills were probably way next level. I was very intimidated and even contemplated trying to get out of it.

We had 1 room with 2 beds, so my little shit talker and I hopped on one bed and my buddy and his groupie hopped on another. I began making out with my girl and my buddy with his, no more than 4 feet from each other with the lights on. All of the sudden I heard by buddy’s groupie scream, “OH. MY. GOD. Your dick is HUUUUGE!” My groupie practically threw me off of her so she could see what was happening. I looked over and saw my friend on the bed with his shirt up to his neck and his pants down to his ankles, and his groupie holding his dick in her hand while laughing.

She looked at my groupie and said, “Look at the size of this thing!” My friend easily had a 12-inch cock, maybe bigger. I was like, god DAMN DUDE! Then, my groupie said, “I’m taking a picture!” She pulled a camera out of her bag and began snapping pictures of my friends Humboldt redwood. His groupie even began posing as if it were a penthouse porn shoot, with her tongue on his cock and in her mouth. My friend absolutely loved it; I was uncomfortable as all hell, insecure about my dick size and still scared to hook up with my groupie who was sure she’d be the best sex I’d ever had.

When they were done I ended up taking my groupie into the bathroom and fucking her on the floor. I laid out a bunch of towels so the tile wouldn’t be too cold. The ironic thing is that she ended up being one of the worst sexual experiences of my life. I mean she sucked! The BJ was awful and she had zero rhythm when we had sex. We played 3 more shows in Seattle but didn’t meet any more girls. It was great, though. And even though nothing ever happened with our crappy band or our music, I feel like I was able to get a little taste of the rock star lifestyle, even if only for a few hours.

The Dating Progression

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 12:04:57 -0800

Generally, in my experience it usually takes around 4 dates before I sleep with a woman, sometimes less, sometimes more. But usually date 4 is when it’s time for you to shit or get off the pot. Every woman and every situation is different, but the general progression is always pretty similar.

Date 1.

This is the date when you put your toes in the water and feel each other out. You might go out and grab a couple of casual drinks, then depending on how drunk you are, how lonely you are or how much you like the other person you might even kiss. It may just end with a somewhat emotionless hug and a whiff of their cologne or fragrance. The date may not have gone well enough to kiss, but you’re both adult’s and not hugging one another would be impolite. And as a guy, whether I had a bad time or not a hug will leave me a little bit satisfied, sexually. Getting my arms around you to see what your body feels like will fulfill some of my curiosity, if only for a second.

Date 2.

Date 2 is very similar to Date 1. You both are on your P’s and Q’s and dressed to impress. This time the date might take a step up to dinner or more of a social event. She also might show you her apartment when you pick her up or visa versa. Buzzed tongue kissing at the end of the date is almost 95% percent certain, and you spend the rest of the evening with a butterfly or 2 in your stomach.

Date 3.

On Date 3, after going to dinner or possibly a bar in which you met a friend or 2 of hers, you end up at someone’s apartment. You’ll have another drink and chat for an hour, then get into a hot make out session. Clothes are usually at least partially removed and you’re fully equipped with a condom. There’s most likely a little finger banging, which is great because this is where us men get to find out one of the most important things about the woman. Something that could make, or break the rest of the relationship:

What her pubic hair situation is like.

Here’s a bad analogy: I absolutely love red wine and the thrill of corking a new bottle, or varietal I’ve never tried before, then tasting what’s inside is exciting and electrifying. Well, a man’s hand going down into a woman’s nether regions for the first time is the same thing. We absolutely love it and can’t wait to find out what your situation is down there. Are you totally shaved or waxed? Are you sporting a landing strip? Is the top trimmed but lips hairless, or are you a wild hippie bush woman? What’s the scent like? Is there any? Will it have a slight tinge or will the intense smell stay on my finger for 3 days?

On date 3 one-sided oral sex might ensue and soooometimes, mmmmmmaybe, a lil’ fucking, but just the tip, though.

Date 4.

If you’re not having sex by date 4, or date 5 at the very latest you either need to seal the deal or move on.

A Bathroom BJ, A Loser & The Single Life

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 00:11:00 -0800

I got together with crazy Jeri this past Saturday night. It’s such an interesting dynamic, her and I. We’ve been fucking, and half-heartedly pursing some out of reach 4-way. At dinner we filled each other in on our latest dates. Kind of odd, and kind of the most ideal situation ever in the history of the fucking world. Ever ever ever. It’s like, I’m out with this girl who’s become a pretty good friend, but what really glues us together is the sex. That being said, without the great sex we aren’t much. We aren’t right for each other. As I explained before, she dates massive douche bags. Orange County rejects with Ben Davis khaki’s, pick up trucks with huge tires and spiky hair. She’s a Hollywood chick who teeters on the edge of valley-girl porn star.

She told me about some guy she fucked with a pierced cock. Gawd, I wanted to puke. I told her about the cop, and our date the night before. She asked me if the cop was bi. “Omg, I totally want to screw a cop!” She said. It’s pretty amazing that we can openly talk about the other people we are dating/fucking without any emotional attachment. After dinner we were on the way back to my place when we spontaneously decided to go to a dive bar near my house neither of us had been to. It was 9:30 and we both weren’t quite ready to go home. We walked into the bar with our arms around each other. As soon as I walked in I made eye contact with a couple that was sitting at the bar just to the right of us.

“Heeeeeeeeyyyyy!” It was my old friend Amy, we fucked on and off for years. I wrote about her low self-esteem blowjob months ago. She got up and gave me a huge hug and we did introductions. The bar was a shithole and smelled like my room in high school; nag champa incense and dirty bed sheets. It reminded me of the bar in the movie “Airplane” when Ted meet’s Elaine. The bartender took our order and we all started chatting. Amy’s date turned out to be her boyfriend, and let me tell you that this fuggin guy was one incredible, massive, huge fucking loser. He was 24 and looked like a beach bum. Flip flops, puka shells and a hemp beanie, literally. They met 4 months ago at a bar and he moved into her place a month, yes a MONTH later. He was jobless, and told us how he was, “mostly concentrating on music”.

He said, “Yah, you know. I wake up and smoke a fat bowl, put on some music and play my djembe until my DICK gets hard!” I’m not making this up I swear to god. Jeri and I were speechless. Amy is actually a pretty smart girl and makes a decent living. But what really fucked with me was that I used to fuck her. Despite all my faults I think I’m a catch. It made me feel that if she was fucking a loser like him, scratch that, in a relationship with a loser like him, than I was selling myself way too short by fucking her.

After our 2^nd glass of wine Jeri and I were buzzed. Amy disappeared and we were stuck at the bar listening to this bumbling hippie talk about absolutely nothing. “Where’s Amy?” I asked him, and he responded, “I don’t know, maybe she’s taking a shit or something. Hahaha”. I fucking hated his face SO hard. I was annoyed and needed to spice the night up, so I asked Jeri if she “needed to use the bathroom”. We both walked into the women’s restroom and into the stall. She dropped her drawers and started peeing and rubbing my cock at the same time. Now that’s awesomely dirty!

She wiped herself, and with her jeans still around her ankles she unzipped my pants and began to blow me. I thought about what do to next. I didn’t have a condom, and I didn’t want to eat her out. Ordinarily I would have, but the thought of fresh pee pee wasn’t doing it for me. She began rubbing my asshole with her finger while blowing me AND jerking me at the same time. A woman’s finger in, around or about my asshole during a blowjob is pure heaven for me and I came in her mouth within 40 seconds. Fuck, it was really amazing. The only problem I have with a woman rubbing my asshole is that I become very self-conscious afterwards. I’m afraid that she will think my poo-smell on her finger will be gross, and I immediately think—Quickly; wash your hands NOW, PLEASE!

We had one more drink and then went home, fucked and went to bed. I’ve actually been thinking about her a lot the last few days, and I hope I’m not beginning to like her. She’s hot, skinny, tatted up and she can hang with me sexually. She’s down to get crazy and is ok with my bi-curious side. This is where shit gets dangerous for me. I know we aren’t right for each other, but the sex makes it good enough to keep investing a little bit more emotionally every time I see her. I need to step back a little and get a grip. I need to keep it “fun”, because I know how she is in a relationship…wild, un-trustworthy and highly dramatic. Hitting boyfriends type dramatic, and I’m way to level headed and way too much of a pussy for that shit.

That’s the fucked up thing about being single, though. It’s way too easy to send someone who’s, “Just good enough”, a “Hey, what’s up?” text on a Friday evening. A few months of that and the next thing you know you’re in an unhappy relationship. The thing is, Jeri has a side of her that I want in someone long term. I need a girl who’s going to rub my asshole and blow me while sitting on a dirty toilet in a bar. That shit’s hot—no pun intended. It’s fun and it keep’s it spicy. I need someone like the German girl who’s gonna fuck me in the ass with a dildo, or the girl who blew me in the department store. But sometimes I think it’s impossible, and that I can’t have a girl who’s going to be into all those things sexually, have a job, be faithful, attractive and level headed.

SMD continues…

Bald Dudes, Propecia & Getting Old

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 16:08:52 -0800

A couple of weeks ago I went to an industry event with a friend to listen to a panel of speakers. A few days after I went to the event website and checked out photo’s from that evening. There were a few of me, and I looked damn good. Then I came across a couple photo’s that were taken from above the event, looking down on the crowd. I spotted myself in the audience and was shocked to see that the crown of my head towards the back looked a little, umm…sparse.

I panicked—How and when the fuck did that happen?! For me, losing my hair is the end-all-be-all. It cannot and will not fucking happen. It’s the same with gaining weight; it simply isn’t an option. I feel like losing my hair would be the equivalent to having my cock burned off, and to women I’d be a useless, unattractive mess. I have it stuck in my mind that women don’t like bald dudes, especially men who are obviously losing their hair.

A few day’s ago I was having a conversation with this guy who’s probably a year or 2 older than I. His hair way partially grey and thinning severely. I could clearly see the top and back of his head through his hair. He was telling me about the girl he’s been dating and how she hates his ex-gf and blah blah. I thought—How does this dude get chicks? He has no hair. Do women like that, or does he date girls with low self-esteem?

So the last couple of weeks I’ve been seriously contemplating Propecia. A couple of my friends take it—both were way worse than I am—and their hair looks amazing now. All the patches that were once balding are now pretty much filled in. No sexual side effects, either. According to the research I’ve done, it only effect’s 1% of men. Not bad. I dug out some old photos of myself to compare and see if my hairline has receded. It looked like it might have, a little, but just barely. I can’t see how a thinning head of hair would be attractive for a girl. I also don’t get why the fuck it’s such a huge issue for me.

I think when it comes down to it the thought of taking Propecia makes me feel fucking old, and being old scares me. I mean, I’ve enjoyed myself more as I’ve gotten older. Growing up, maturing and learning from my mistakes has been awesome. But having to tell people I’m older than 30 sounds fucking scary as shit. A female friend of mine—who’s 34—has been dating men in their mid 40’s & early 50’s lately and hearing that makes me want to fucking YAK. I remember my mom’s 40^th birthday, 40 sounded like light years away. I still feel like that little kid, only now 40 is fast approaching. What it also boils down to is that I’m afraid to die. I definitely believe in the afterlife, but I’m terrified of the unknown. This is turning into a whole other conversation…

But shit, I know a few folks in their 40’s and they are young as ever. They look great, they fuck like they’re18 and they live life like it’s their last day—say that 3 times fast. I guess it’s all about what you make it. I think I’m actually having a panic attack right now…

Will be back tomorrow to share my sexy Saturday night with crazy Jeri. It was an interesting one.

This Weekend’s 2nd Date With "The Po Po"

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 00:20:00 -0800

God, what a weekend. I have so much to write about; dates, thoughts, rants & observations. So many things popped into my slimy Ashkenazi head. Oh, and thank you to everyone who responded to my poll email. Some of your responses were quite eye opening and really helped a lot. If anyone still wants to take it, holler at chyo muthafuckin boyee.

Ok so first topic of the week, my 2^nd date with “The Po Po”.

Our 2^nd date was pushed back a couple of times and the, “I need to fuck a cop”, sensation had lost a little momentum. She had been very communicative, always returning texts and being equally as aggressive about setting up times to get together, which kept me interested. Plus, the mutual friend who hooked us up had been relentless about making sure we went out again. She sent me a fucking text message every other day, “When’s the next date? Did you re-schedule?” Jesus, CHRIST! Leave me ALONE.

3 hours before the date I had no idea what we were going to do. It was Friday night, and when it comes to dating on the weekends I tend to get into these strange headspaces. Like, I want to go out but I don’t want to deal with a crowd, a line or reservations and I become flustered. I always think—“We can’t go there, it will be too crowded. We can’t go here, it will be packed”, and after a day of stressing about it I work myself into not caring and end up wanting to stay in. However, that night I was feeling spontaneous, and I’ve found that in this economy you can pretty much walk into any $$ or $$$ priced restaurant/trendy bar at any time on the weekend and not have to wait or deal with a massive crowd. A friend had recently told me about this cute new Italian place and I decided to take her there. I’d been eating at home all week and wanted a nicer meal. I knew it would be a little spendy but I said fug it.

I picked her up at 8pm. She lives in a modest Hollywood apt building. I called her when I got outside and she hopped in my ride. Woah! She looked much cuter than she did the first time we met. Not quite a 180 but a good 2 notches up. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail and some slight blonde streaks in her hair that weren’t there before. Her streaks instantly made me think, “Hmm, I bet she’s a little freaky in bed”. I don’t know if all men have this, but when I see a girl with dyed hair—that isn’t covering up grey hair—I automatically think she must be a little freaky in bed. I do the same thing with tattoo’s and unusual piercings.

Anyway, despite not meeting my borderline homosexual style & clothing standards, she still looked quite cute. Brown boots, jeans, a jacket and a black tank top. Still a little on the dykey-butch side and a tad softball player-ish, but now it looked good on her.

Conversation during the drive over was comfortable. We talked about work, thanksgiving and family. She kept saying, “dude”, which I kind of liked because it felt comfortable and friendly but after 3 “dudes” I thought—not sexy. I mean it’s fine when a girl says it in a context like, “Dude! No way!” Or, “Dude, What’s up??” But when it’s such a staple within a woman’s vocabulary it’s a little frat-house-white-girl.

So we went to the restaurant, it was cute and there was only 1 other couple in the place. I ordered a nice Malbec and she ordered a beer. The entrees on the menu ranged from like $15-28 each, and they had a lobster risotto special for $35. I have some cash in the bank but since I’m now unemployed and no longer earning a phat salary I try to spend within my limits, so I got the lamb ragu at $19. She went ahead and got an appetizer and the lobster risotto. I really wondered where she was coming from. Like, were we going dutch? Did she think I was paying for it all of it?—Which I was planning on.

So we got into chatting, and eventually past relationships came up. I knew what it was leading to. I’d thought about this for the last week or so, and how to treat her. I definitely want to fuck the cop. Like, ASAMFP. But I don’t want to the fuck & run; I’m too old to trick someone into the sack like that. So I decided I’d put the ball in her court like I did with “The funny redhead” and tell her that while I was interested in dating and hanging out, I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship.

She’s been single for a year and didn’t sound like she was dating anyone special. Her life seemed to consist of work, the gun range—fuckin A—hanging out with her friends & playing volleyball at the beach, and drinking beers at various karaoke nights across the city. Not exactly a match for me, so when it came to my turn I told her that I haven’t been in a place for a serious relationship. “Maybe at some point down the line, but not now”, I said.

There was a slight awkward silence, which the waitress saved me from. Po Po ordered a 2^nd beer, me another Malbec and we switched gears. After that, things seemed a little easier. We both seemed more relaxed. She opened up and shared a shit load of crazy fucking cop stories. I was on the edge of my seat for almost 45 minutes. With my mouth full of lamb ragu I kept saying, “And THEN what happened??” She’s seen a lot of crazy shit, done a lot of good deeds and I fucking LIKED it!

We had desert and the check came. She didn’t budge, and after having the 2 minute, “I’m going to talk to you for 2 minutes to see if you’re gonna offer any cash”, conversation I reached in my wallet and threw down the Amex. I was a little disappointed that she literally ordered the most expansive thing on the menu knowing she wasn’t even tossing in tip money. However, I figured she earned the fucking rissoto with her amazing cop stories.

She had to be up early for some cop thing so I took her home. On the ride back she was tipsy and laughing, the energy was good and we were having a good time. I kept fucking with her by saying “Dude” in almost every sentence. She’d laugh and smack my leg. I pulled up outside her house and got out to give her a hug. We embraced, and as we squeezed each other we both went, “errrrrrrrrr!” As we let go I said, “ok”, and out of nowhere leaned in to kiss her.

We began to tongue kiss and she resumed her ironclad hug. She was strong, like really strong and was practically bear hugging me as we kissed. As a man I’m usually the one doing the holding, cuddling and squeezing. But I love to feel like I’m being taken over by the woman. In a strange way, sometimes, I like to feel like the girl. When I get comfortable with a woman, I ask her to squeeze me as hard as she can when we fuck. I like being controlled a little here & there and as much as I can be a dominant, I also like to be the submissive with a woman. It’s fucking HOT.

We kissed for a few minutes and she left. Ok so NOW I want to fuck the cop!

Wow, this was a long post and now I’m all hot & bothered thinking about being a submissive bitch. Looks like I’m gonna need to write about that in a future entry. Toodles….

Thanks To Everyone Who Responded To My Poll Email!

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 10:38:30 -0800

Last Night’s 1st Date With “The Executive”

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 10:37:52 -0800

A few days ago I got a message on Facebook from a girl I didn’t recognize. “Hey, remember me?” At first glance I had no idea who she was, like zero fucking clue, but after going through a few of her facebook pic’s—there were only three—I totally remembered. I was 22 and she was 20. She had just moved to LA from Boston and was naïve, intimidated and star struck. We met at a party and the night we met she was the shy, insecure girl from out of town. I was the cool, edgy LA guy who was outgoing and confident. As we spoke she constantly second-guessed herself, saying things like, “I must sound stupid”, or “I don’t know what I’m talking about”.

I could tell that I intimidated her, but I was 22 and kind of an asshole. I wasn’t sensitive towards her feelings. We never had sex, but I think she blew me a couple of times. A couple weeks after we met we went bowling with a group of people and I told her one of her friends was cute. I don’t know why the fuck I did that dumb shit but I did, she became pissed and we never saw each other again. Her FB profile only had 3 pics but she seemed to have grown up well. It looked like the shy Boston girl had disappeared and a new, confident LA woman had emerged. I was looking forward to seeing her for sure.

She was wearing a cute black leather jacket, jeans, boots, and a wife beater. Shoulder length brown hair and a little lipstick. She definitely grew up, but she didn’t look much different. She had filled out a little, too. She wasn’t overweight by any means, but her arms and upper torso were thick and kind of solid looking. She is now an executive at a major movie studio. I was impressed, and shocked that the shy Boston girl I knew 8 years earlier worked her way up the ladder into the movie industry.

She told me that she’d gotten into running marathons and was an avid cyclist. Once she even rode with Lance Armstrong. She trains 4 days a week, every week. Ok now I’m not trying to sound crass here in the slightest bit, but like….she had a belly. Not a big one! But like I said, she was a little top heavy and I could see her belly folding over her jeans a little. Hey, that’s not a bad thing. I’m sure mine folds over, too. But it just seemed interesting that she was this hardcore athlete and was still kind of thick. It got me thinking about a lot of the women I’ve dated in the past, and it seems like the one’s who are constantly working out or training or claim to be these crazy athletes are always kind of thick, and the one’s who don’t work out or just do a little yoga here & there or something are usually rail thin. Just an observation…

Anyway, so I didn’t feel a crazy spark but I felt like the dynamic between us hadn’t really changed. She still seemed like that shy Boston girl around me, and a few times I caught her second-guessing herself just like she used to. However, she was fucking smart and I could see why she worked her way up so fast. The bottom line here is that I could probably fuck her and have nice little fling. We both have a little cash and are level headed. We could probably have sleepovers, work out together and I could probably learn a thing or 2 from her.

But in the long run, it wouldn’t work out. She’s not long-term material. I’ve been struggling with these type of women lately. I feel old and lazy, because while the thought of having a fun couple of months with a new girl sounds great, the secondary thought of eventually having some dramatic, “where is this going”, talk makes me want to fucking kill myself. So, I’m unsure of what to do. It’s a little ironic actually, considering I’m going to try everything in my power to fuck a cop. But like, come on, it’s a cop for Christ sakes.

Anyway, after a couple drinks I walked her to her car and gave her a hug goodbye. In general, it was a lot of fun! I’m glad she hit me up on FB. We relived some old memories I never would of thought of otherwise. But I’m just not sure if I should pursue it sexually.

Tune in Monday to read about my 2^nd date with, “The Po Po”.